


overwrite

by antikytheras



Category: Pocket Monsters: Sword & Shield | Pokemon Sword & Shield Versions
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Communication, Denial of Feelings, Established Relationship, Getting Together, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-28
Updated: 2020-04-28
Packaged: 2021-03-02 00:27:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,368
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23896054
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/antikytheras/pseuds/antikytheras
Summary: It is only a matter of time, Raihan thinks, before this all comes to an end.Being around Leon always sends him off-kilter, like the axis of his existence has been sent spinning in a direction he’d never thought possible. He doesn’t know what he’s done to deserve the moments like this, the little secrets whispered in a quiet corner of heaven. He has always been Leon’s rival, and Leon has always been his, but to hope for anything more is—Leonkickshim. Gently, of course. ‘Go.’So he does.
Relationships: Dande | Leon/Kibana | Raihan
Comments: 9
Kudos: 171





	overwrite

Raihan does not remember when he started to feel like this.

He’s settled into a new routine, he realises, walking down the snow-blanketed pavements of Wyndon on a bitterly cold morning. But this routine is not a solitary one, like the morning rituals of quiet and calm, or the wind-down at the end of every work day; it is nothing like the routines that he has cultivated over the course of many lonely years, standing guard before the metaphorical gates that lead to the man who is Galar’s king in all-but-name.

The road he treads is familiar beneath his feet, even through the layers of snow. Today, there are barely any people on the street, probably because of the cold. He pauses to wind his scarf a little tighter around his neck. In dawn’s diamond dust, his breath streams white.

Once he is done wading through waist-deep snow (a new, unfortunate hazard in his favourite shortcut through the park), Leon’s apartment complex comes into view. Warm air beckons his shivering body into the lobby. Though he is trudging wet snow all over the pristine floors like an unruly intruder, the man at the concierge (hired for his discretion, unfailing sense of duty, and aversion to taking bribes) does not so much as blink when Raihan lets himself through the high-tech security gates.

The rest of the way to Leon’s apartment is as silent and empty as the snow-muffled streets. Raihan taps the key-card that Leon had given him onto the reader in the elevator. The double doors whirr shut and, with the gentlest of jolts, the elevator sends him up to the sixth floor.

Most people believe that Galar’s longest reigning Champion lives in a penthouse, but Raihan had been there to see Leon’s crestfallen expression when the realtors had explained, very apologetically, that safety regulations dictated that large-sized Pokémon like Charizard would only be allowed to free-roam in apartments between the first and the eighth levels of the building.

To this day, he still has no clue as to why Leon had been so insistent on dragging him along to the showroom viewings. He had doggedly asked for Raihan’s opinion on a great many things, from his preferred toilet arrangements (shower room and toilet separated, thank you very much) down to whether the master bedroom should face the east or the west. If he didn’t know better, he would almost wonder if Leon expected him to move in at some point.

But that would be absurd, so he pushes the thought out of his mind.

The elevator doors slide open with a classy, understated chime. His footsteps are muffled to near silence by the carpet. When he knocks on the dark, solid wood of Leon’s front door, it opens immediately.

He almost jumps back, but on the other side of the threshold is Leon, smiling at him with his pyjamas draped over his frame and sleep in his eyes. It is an open, unguarded expression. ‘You’re late.’

The sight sends all sorts of warm, unwelcome feelings bubbling up in Raihan’s chest. ‘Snow,’ he explains unhelpfully, but somehow Leon seems to understand.

‘Get in here and warm up.’ He yawns and turns away, retreating into his apartment. When he stretches out his arms, the hem of his shirt rises to reveal a sliver of warm brown skin just over the rise of the waistband of his pants.

Raihan forces himself to look away.

He stoops to remove his boots, arranging them neatly in the entryway before stepping over Leon’s haphazard piles of shoes. He starts to unwind the scarf around his neck and doesn’t expect a pair of warm hands to join in his efforts.

‘You’re so cold,’ Leon murmurs. Raihan doesn’t need to turn back to know that he’s wrinkling his nose. Leon’s hands burn against his skin when he tugs the scarf off Raihan’s neck, but the fire in his chest cools to ash when Leon pulls away to hang the scarf up on the coat rack by the entrance.

It’s easy to say, ‘Thanks,’ when he doesn’t have to look his lifelong rival in the eye. Leon continues to stand with him in the tight, cramped space of the entrance. He laughs while Raihan struggles to peel his coat off his body, and then those hands, ever-so-helpful, are tugging at the back of his coat until Raihan stumbles free.

‘Just go in,’ Leon says, waving Raihan off while he slips Raihan’s coat onto a wooden hanger. ‘There’s coffee in the kitchen. I’ll be right there, once I’m done with this.’ Before Raihan can say anything, the man who should be Galar’s most eligible bachelor catches his eye with the sharp edge of his conspiratorial grin. ‘Stop making that face, I’ll make sure it’s not creased this time.’

Being around Leon always sends him off-kilter, like the axis of his existence has been sent spinning in a direction he’d never thought possible. He doesn’t know what he’s done to deserve the moments like this, the little secrets whispered in a quiet corner of heaven. He has always been Leon’s rival, and Leon has always been his, but to hope for anything more is—

Leon _kicks_ him. Gently, of course. ‘Go.’

So he does.

The promised coffee sits in a coffee pot, next to two empty mugs and a small milk jug. The cupboard door left ajar overhead indicates that Leon had been in the middle of serving the coffee until Raihan had shown up at the door. Raihan reaches for the jar of sugar by the edge of the cupboard. He can almost imagine Leon humming to himself with a smile, standing in the very spot that Raihan is now, and then, upon hearing the knock, brighten up and turn toward the front door.

The scene is domestic. He wonders how long he has to savour it. How much longer he has until Leon tires of him.

He exits the kitchen with two steaming mugs. Leon is already curled up on the sofa, hugging a pillow to his chest while he watches the news.

Raihan recognises the figure in the hot seat. ‘The new champion’s working weekends already?’

‘You know how it is.’ Leon yawns again. ‘Saturday prime time.’ He takes the proffered coffee with a murmur of thanks, fingers brushing against Raihan’s. It sends a jolt up his spine.

Raihan tries to remember to breathe. ‘Poor kid.’

Leon shrugs. ‘At least it means we get to spend time together now.’

He says “we” like it actually means something to him, but Raihan knows better than to hope.

The rest of the day goes by in a blur that is so lovely it hurts. Leon has always been physically affectionate, but even after all these years, Raihan has never quite gotten used to being tucked under the sling of Leon’s arm over his shoulder, or to the warm touches that linger at the small of his back. Even more surprising is how easily they’ve fallen into this routine of indulgent laziness, spending their weekends together doing nothing at all.

Raihan doesn’t remember how it started, or how it had come to this. Everything had seemed so natural, so easy. First it had been the invitations to watch the late-night replays of their matches on Leon’s obscenely large television. Then, it had been the extra toothbrush by Leon’s bedroom sink, and then Raihan had found himself bringing a change of clothes every time he came by Leon’s place, if only to always have a second extra set around, just in case.

(In case of what? He still doesn’t know.)

And now Raihan wakes up at the crack of dawn every Saturday morning just to trudge down to Leon’s apartment, be it through warm sunshine or bitter-white snow, for a purpose that neither of them has ever spoken into reality. But that’s okay, because this precarious, undefined, unspoken relationship is more than he’s ever dared to dream of.

Galar’s golden king has never asked anything of his most loyal knight. Not when he doesn’t need to. Not when he already knows that where he goes, his knight will always follow.

And it’s at times like this that Raihan thinks, eyes closed in sweet denial-and-bliss, that Leon is right to be unfaltering in his confidence, with his hands tangled in Raihan’s hair and his breath pure-hot-desire against Raihan’s lips. Because the knight’s armour crumbles to rust in the blaze of Leon’s touch, and (to the knight’s delight) the king is nothing but warm-human-flesh without the weight of his crown and the world that watches him.

The next morning, Raihan wakes, alone, to the sunlight streaming in through the east-facing windows of Leon’s master bedroom. He can hear Leon humming in the bathroom. With a groan, he stretches and reaches for his phone.

Leon’s voice drifts in. ‘Do you think I should get my ears pierced?’

The last vestiges of sleep still cling to Raihan’s brain like a cloud of cotton, so he doesn’t reply. He only rolls over and continues scrolling through his feed.

When Leon emerges from the bathroom, Raihan finally rolls back over and looks up, though he continues to keep one finger idly flicking through all his social media. ‘What was that about wanting to pierce your ears?’

Leon drops down to sit on the blanket still covering Raihan’s legs. His smile is fond and easy when he looks down at Raihan. ‘Yeah, I was thinking of getting a pair of earrings to match with yours. You don’t like the idea?’

‘Hmm.’ Raihan reaches out to touch Leon’s ears.

Leon tilts his head, ever-so-slightly, to give Raihan’s hand all the space it needs to rest against the warmth of his pulse in his neck. That damned domestic fondness is still burning low in his bright eyes.

‘Absolutely not.’

Leon jolts up, surprised, and Raihan’s hand drops back uselessly to his side. ‘Huh? Why not?’

‘Piercing holes are wounds that might never completely close.’ He can’t bring himself to look at Leon’s face, so he keeps his gaze trained on the red of his t-shirt instead. Something deep within him twists and churns in his chest, until the words are spilling out of his mouth before he knows what he’s saying. ‘One day, when you don’t want to be with me anymore… I could never forgive myself for the regret that you’d feel then.’

The axe falls at the precise moment that he realises what he’s said. His eyes widen, he regrets his words, but it’s too late— he can only cast about in his mind for some way to play it off, some justification for what he’s inadvertently confessed, but he’s already been silent for too long.

Leon is silent for a long moment too. Now that the words have been spoken, Raihan’s gaze is fixed to his chest, low enough that he can’t even see the shade of emotion in Leon’s eyes in his peripheral vision. ‘I see,’ Leon says at last.

The morning frost beyond the window seems to have crawled into Raihan’s lungs. Now he can only sit and wait for judgement to fall, and for their fragile, tenuous bond to break.

But then Leon brightens up with a too-light smile, bringing his hand to his neck and sweeping his long hair away, and Raihan is compelled to look at his sun-bright expression like a moth drawn to an open flame. ‘By the way, this is the bite mark you left on me last night.’

Raihan flinches. ‘That— That’ll fade almost immediately, it’s not like—’

‘That’s right.’ Leon’s gaze is wistful. So is his smile. ‘That’s why I want you to overwrite it, again and again. As long as you’re willing to be with me.’

Raihan’s throat is dry. He swallows. His heart hammers in his chest. ‘I don’t understand.’

Leon reaches for Raihan’s hand, carefully, watching his expression the entire time. ‘I was wondering why you’ve been acting so strange,’ he murmurs. ‘I guess I’m partly to blame. We never— I thought you—’

Raihan watches, dumbfounded, as Leon takes a deep breath. Leon is holding onto _his_ hand like _he’s_ the lifeline, not the other way around, and now he can only wonder how much more he’s (wilfully) overlooked.

‘I didn’t think you wanted me to say anything. I thought you were happier not putting a label on this.’ Leon’s grip loosens, just a touch, but Raihan is quick to hold on tight with the silent promise of never letting go. ‘I didn’t— I should have realised—’

Now Leon is frowning, and Raihan has never felt so hopelessly lost and yet so hopeful. ‘It’s not your—’

‘I want you,’ Leon says, plain and simple. ‘Now and always. I can’t imagine being with anyone else. It’s you. It’s always been you.’

Every _thud_ of Raihan’s heart in his chest feels like it’s echoing throughout his entire being. Part of him wants to ask if he’s sure, but the steady weight of Leon’s gaze, locked to Raihan’s own, is already enough of an answer.

The understanding sinks in, a little at a time. ‘So that’s why you asked me to go to the apartment viewings with you,’ Raihan murmurs.

Leon leans in. Hesitantly, Raihan rests his head on his shoulder. When Leon laughs, his entire chest vibrates. ‘I was starting to lose hope that you’d ever want to move in with me,’ he admits.

Raihan closes his eyes. In his mind, he can see an endless loop of lazy mornings and warm evenings spent under the covers with Leon. Being with him has always been so easy, so effortless. In hindsight, the fact that they had already given their precious weekends to each other for the express purpose of doing nothing together should have been the first sign that somewhere along the way, Raihan had already stumbled into a strange, almost-married life.

The thought is not unwelcome.

‘I’d like that,’ he whispers.

He feels Leon press a kiss to his temple. ‘We can talk about it later. Properly,’ he adds with a wince, and Raihan snorts.

‘Sounds good.’

Outside, just beyond the window, Raihan watches the morning frost melt before the warmth of dawn.

**Author's Note:**

> inspired by [this comic](https://twitter.com/iwn_com/status/1252556698633539585)
> 
> hmu on [twitter](https://twitter.com/syorobao) \o/


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